Loose Ends
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: Have you ever noticed how many holes there are in the show? How many things happen off-screen that you wish you could have seen? Well, this is my attempt at filling those holes and answering all of your burning questions in a humorous way. Set up like one-shots; only meant for fun.
1. After the Curtain Falls

_**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in relation to Once Upon a Time or its characters. Everything belongs to ABC and I'm only writing this for my own amusement. If others find it amusing, it's an added bonus. **_

_**A/N: **__**The idea for this collection of one-shots came to me while I was re-watching the episode The Miller's Daughter. I always noticed how there were so many important details the writers never bothered to explain in Once or things that happened off-screen, suddenly appearing in some future episode. (How did Mulan/Aurora save Philip? Where did Belle's blue dress come from in the Skin Deep plotline? When did Rumpel tell her about the dagger and request her to hide it before 2x14?) So, I wanted to try an experiment. I plan to explain the missing pieces in my own (possibly hilarious) perspective. Just a fun project and it also gives me an excuse to re-watch the past seasons of Once. **_

_**For instance: **_

**_What happened after everything faded to black after The Miller's Daughter? Well…_**

Regina held her mother's heart in her hands. Literally. She sucked a deep breath in, her own heart rampaging within the hollow of her throat, and slowly she released it through her nose. Her mother never noticed her reappear inside the imp's pawnshop, consumed as she was by the task she so desperately craved to complete. The cursed dagger rose in the air, determined to plunge down through Rumpelstiltskin's heart. Only the last _n _of his name was left now, his life seeping away like sand in an hourglass.

The heart sank between her mother's shoulder blades, returning to its original home inside her empty, cold chest. A moist sound split the air as Regina removed her hand. Cora gasped and the dagger tumbled from her fingers, clattering on the floor. Neither one bent to retrieve it—Cora because she was clutching her chest as her heart kicked back to life, and Regina because she was frozen in place, waiting breathlessly for the change to occur. If it ever would.

Would her mother truly love her now?

_She does not love you, Regina. She has no heart, _Snow's voice curled around her mind like poison. Well, Regina just changed that for the better.

Cora turned around to face her daughter. At first, she seemed shocked by what Regina had done, but her heart must have started working again. A smile gradually spread over her red lips. For once, she looked genuinely happy to see Regina standing there.

"Mother?" Regina hesitantly approached her mother, wanting so much to believe it had worked. There was love reflected in Cora's eyes as she beheld her daughter. Yes, it was working. Her mother had her heart back and everything would be alright. A hand stretched to stroke Regina's face…

….and that was when her mother collapsed.

"Mother!" Regina knelt and took her mother in her arms. Cora's head lolled, her caramel hair fanning out over the floor. No. No! This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to make her mother love her, not…not…_kill her, _Regina realized with dread.

She didn't notice Rumpelstiltskin regain his strength, rising swiftly from the bed.

She didn't notice him bend to claim the dagger, his name restored.

She didn't notice anything…except the fact that her mother was dying in her arms. God, she was so pale. Her arms flailed, the muscles growing useless already.

"Your mother did you no favors," Rumpel muttered from behind.

"Shut up," she spat over her shoulder. Tears stung beneath her eyelids, threatening to overflow, hot and wet. That sick, self-preserving imp! "You stole her life! You cast some spell…or…" She shook her head listlessly and swept the hair off her mother's forehead.

The light was fading quickly in her mother's eyes. Her lips formed Regina's name, but no sound came out. Then her eyelids finally drifted closed and there was nothing left of her except the promise of what may have been. All for the sake of Rumpelstiltskin's life.

"I did nothing," he responded, evasive as ever before. Regina shook her head even more furiously. Nonsense. He was the one who was dying. Had been dying. Who else could have…?

"Regina, stop!" The curtain billowed and Snow White dashed into the back room. She halted in her tracks, her mouth falling open as she gazed in horror upon Regina cradling Cora's limp body. Charming rushed in after her and bumped into her shoulder. It was far too late. Cora was dead and Regina found herself face-to-face with the murderer.

Her.

Always her.

Regina glared spitefully at her archenemy, one thousand curses swirling through her head with the tips of her fingers itching to release them.

Snow gaped in open-mouthed horror.

No one dared to breathe as the time ticked away.

"Well, this is awkward," Charming sighed. He was exceptional at stating the obvious. Behind Regina, Rumpelstiltskin yawned, having grown bored already of the drama. If Snow didn't close her mouth soon, she'd certainly catch a fly or two.

"I believe Regina is waiting for the unlikely moment where her looks will kill," Rumpel remarked. Regina's lip curled, but all she did was glare. And glare some more. Oh, if looks could really kill, Snow White would be stained rose red and splattered over the entire room by now.

"You…" Regina hissed. Truthfully, her eyelids were aching from glaring so much and she was trying to find something clever to say. Every good villain had to have a good line. "Remember this: all magic comes with a price." She bared her teeth threateningly.

"That one is mine," Rumpel said defensively. Regina rolled her eyes.

"No matter where you go, Snow White, I will always find you."

"Mine," Charming stated. He placed his arms protectively around his beloved wife. Regina groaned to the high heavens. Was there any line in this town that wasn't already taken by someone else? She supposed she would just have to settle with…

"You will rue this day, Snow White." Rumpel dipped his head approvingly. Then Regina and her mother's body vanished in a thick cloud of purple fog. Charming coughed as it filled his lungs. He waved a hand to clear it away.

Snow finally closed her mouth.

"I feel sick," Snow mumbled, wrapping her arms around her belly. Rumpel tensed while re-buttoning his dress shirt. No tie, but it would have to do until he returned to his empty, pink house.

"Have I ever told you about my shop's latest policy? You ruin it, you buy it," he warned. Charming comforted Snow with a gentle pat on the shoulder. She looked like death warmed over, paler than Rumpel had been when knocking at death's door.

"Should we leave now?" Charming looked from his wife to Rumpelstiltskin. There was nothing more to do now that the dealmaker was alive and Cora was vanquished.

"I'd prefer it if you did," Rumpel said coolly. Charming ushered Snow toward the curtain. She was in shock, barely shuffling her feet. "Oh, and Snow? I knew you could do it."

It was his way of extending his gratitude, but clearly Snow did not appreciate it in that form. Breaking out of her stupor, she spun wildly on Rumpel and sent him a piercing look. It was nowhere near Regina's black glare, but it made Rumpel squirm uneasily nonetheless. He hadn't forgotten what Snow was like in the Enchanted Forest. There were enough Thumpers and Bambis in the big forest in the sky to prove that.

"I think I understand why Emma wants to punch you in the face," she retorted. Rumpel didn't take it to heart. It was probably that little black spot clouding her heart doing the talking. Even someone as pure as Snow White could not escape the repercussions of taking a life.

When they were gone, Rumpelstiltskin bobbed up and down on his heels. He felt so alive, so refreshed. His finger traced the letters of his name on the blade of the dagger. Never did he imagine he'd be happy to see his name engraved there. How should he celebrate? Should he call up Granny's Diner and order a bottle of wine? Should he head down to the hospital and inform Belle that he was alive, even if she did not remember who he was? Oh, he could kiss her again!

He rolled up the woolen blanket, only to notice the bloodstain from his now-healed wound.

"There'll be no washing that out."

…

_**Just the start of many to (hopefully) come. I hope everyone enjoyed it on some level and if you noticed any holes you want me to fill for Once, all you have to do is say so! At the very least, it might keep us all entertained until the show comes back. (One month!)**_


	2. The Queen's Tears

_**A/N: First off, I want to thank all those that read and reviewed the first one-shot. I'm glad so many liked this idea. This next one-shot came from a review from an anonymous reviewer, asking how Rumpel managed to get Regina's tears in the second season. I hope everyone enjoys it. **_

Despite having been a dealmaker for centuries, Rumpelstiltskin never looked forward to hassling with the good people of Storybrooke for something they desperately wanted. As a matter of fact, he didn't much enjoy hassling with them in any other world. Some of the people he came across proved to be downright annoying, especially the indecisive ones. To sign or not to sign….

That was the beauty of his shop, though. Even with the sign turned to _Open, _no one dared to venture into the monster's den unless they were truly desperate. It was his marked territory, his holy sanctuary, a place of serenity where he could kick his feet up and relax. Not even Regina dared to come through that door unless she was in a rage. Those times usually occurred at the end of the month, though.

The first customer arrived early that morning, before the town clock struck eight. The golden bell above the door trilled, but he did not remove his gaze from the leather journal in which he was carefully writing. He did not need to look up to know the identity of his customer. For the first time in a while, Rumpel genuinely smiled as the name drifted across his mind.

"Ah, Henry. Always a pleasure," he drawled, momentarily setting aside the pen and leather journal. He leaned over the counter and peered down at the savior's boy. Even though he'd been raised by the Evil Queen, Henry exhibited good manners and forced a polite smile in return. It wasn't anywhere close to reaching his eyes. "How are you?"

Henry shrugged loosely. The strap of his backpack slipped down, but he caught it and hoisted it up again.

"Fine," he answered vaguely, as all children were apt to do in front of someone they were not entirely comfortable with.

Rumpel knew Henry's answer wasn't the truth. Henry had endured more trauma in the past week than most people endured in their lifetime, from being placed under a sleeping curse to losing both Emma and Snow in a magical portal. It was highly doubtful that Regina confessed to the Enchanted Forest still existing, which meant she claimed Emma and Snow were dead instead, having fallen into a void of nothingness. It was all there in Henry's eyes: the exhaustion, both physical and emotional, the loneliness, the sadness, the longing for his family members returned in one piece. Rumpel's heart slightly ached for the boy.

All because he had sent the wraith after Regina.

All because she had the nerve to feed him lies about Belle's fate.

All because the two of them insisted on playing a tedious game of chess, a game that had begun long before Regina cast the Dark Curse over the Enchanted Forest. Rumpel lowered his eyes from Henry's innocent face, the guilt of his actions weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear the news of your mother and grandmother's disappearance. I implore you to have faith, Henry. Both women are resourceful. Even when it seems those we love are forever gone, they often return in the most unexpected of ways." Henry's smile softened. "Which is precisely why I requested your presence this morning. You see, Regina locked Belle away for years, even before the curse was cast. She led me to believe that Belle was dead. I intend to…acquire a bargaining chip, to ensure that she never deceives me or hurts Belle again."

Gradually, Henry's feet shuffled toward the counter. He looked sympathetic to Rumpelstiltskin's plight, but he had a ways to go before he gained Henry's trust and assistance. He could not forget that Henry viewed him as a villain, same as Regina.

"What do you need me to do?" Rumpel did not mistake Henry's curiosity for agreement. The boy was much too smart to strike a deal with the devil without having all the details laid out on the table. It amused Rumpel to consider Henry as a miniature version of himself, clever and calculating.

Rumpel retrieved his cane and limped around the counter. Appearance was everything. He didn't want to intimidate Henry by having the front counter bar the space between them. Henry's hand hitched onto his backpack strap and he looked ready to bolt. Rumpel stopped at the corner of the counter, giving Henry enough breathing room to relax.

"The task I need you to complete is very simple," he reassured the boy. He leaned heavier on his cane, using his potential vulnerability to lower Henry's defenses. "I require one thing from Regina. Her tears." Henry's head cocked to the right, indicating his confusion. The sunlight streaming through the pawnshop's windows set the boy's brown eyes ablaze.

"Her…tears? Why?" Now that Rumpel thought about it, getting even one tear out of Regina might be difficult. Bordering impossible, even. The Evil Queen hardly ever cried. Of course, thanks to the price of casting the curse and reliance on dark magic to do her bidding, the Evil Queen's heart was frozen and hollow. If Henry could not extract a tear from Regina, then no one could.

"Tears are valuable in the world of magic, Henry. They are diamonds containing a person's essence. A product of the heart, borne out of happiness, love, pain, fear, and rage alike. With a person's tears on hand, anything is possible. If I wish to use her tears to make her experience ecstasy or heartache nonstop for the rest of her days, I can. If I wish to use her tears to make her cry a river powerful enough to drown New York City, I can. Who knows? Shedding a tear or two might do her soul some good."

Henry lightly took a step back, uncertain. Rumpel resisted the urge to step closer as a result, for fear of coming off as stalking the boy like a predator to prey. He had done it so many times to toy with his customers, it was almost second nature to him. Had he come off as too excited about the range of possibilities? Had he unintentionally frightened the boy? This was the only person that could aid him in this mission. Who else was he supposed to enlist? Grumpy? Archie?

"Or I'll be content to store the tears on a shelf in the back for a rainy day," he hastened to ease Henry's alarm. The boy stopped retreating, at least.

"What's in it for me?" Rumpel's eyebrows shot up. He honestly hadn't expected that. It made him squirm a little with unease. He knew he had to offer Henry something for his efforts, lest the boy assume he could dish it out but not take it. It was only fair, he supposed.

"You've always been very clever, Henry. I admire that," he commended. His cane tapped on the floorboards as he approached Henry. Henry did not flee. In fact, he boldly held Rumpel's gaze, which was more than could be said for the majority of the men in town. Cocky, just like his mother. "Let's see…what would suffice for a boy of your age and wit? Ah, I know. If you help me with this task, I promise you will be granted a special gift soon. It may not come directly from me, but you'll know that I am responsible for the gift."

Henry surveyed Rumpel dubiously. Did he think that Rumpel was going to cheat him out of a reward? Being ten years old, however, ensured that Henry anticipated surprises.

"Okay. I'll help you. Just as long as you don't use Regina's tears to kill her," Henry negotiated, extending his hand to seal the deal. A frown threatened to sour Rumpel's carefully crafted smile. Good people sucked the fun out of everything these days. He was hoping to make Regina cry until she died of sensory overload. Oh, well. He'd take what he could get.

"It's a deal," he lilted, firmly shaking Henry's small hand. "I trust you'll be creative enough to devise a name for this operation?" Operation: Make Regina Cry lacked proper subtlety. Henry had used Operation: Cobra while he and Emma were working on breaking the curse. The reason he knew that was because Regina was not the only one with eyes and ears in town. Henry's eyes rolled to the ceiling as he pondered over a worthy name.

"How about…Operation: Waterhole?" Rumpelstiltskin strained to hold back his giggles. Regina would never suspect their intentions with a name like that, even if she happened to overhear it.

"Operation: Waterhole it is," he agreed, his accent thick with his subdued laughter. He handed Henry a glass vial to collect the tears before sending him on his way. Once the boy was long gone, Rumpel mulled over their conversation. Operation: Waterhole. He liked it. _You know what they say….you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink, _he thought.

He was eager to see how long it would take Henry to make this stubborn horse drink.

…

Plan A of Operation: Waterhole was in motion. If Henry made good on his word, then he was well on his way to doing his part already. According to their plan, he was meant to lure Regina toward Rumpelstiltskin, and so all Rumpel had to do now was wait for the guest of honor to arrive.

He sniffled and wiped the moisture from his eyes with a tissue. Even something as simple as slicing onions made one susceptible to tears. Thankfully, the onion-chopping was interrupted by a knock at the door. That should be her. He untied his apron and tossed it on the counter. For a moment, he lingered over the onions, debating whether to scoop up a handful. He could wave it under her eyes…Nah, too suspicious. He had to play this nice and smooth.

"Regina, what a lovely surprise," he greeted. She glared right through his niceties, knowing it was anything but lovely or a surprise. The only thing that surprised him was that she gathered the courage to land on his doorstep at all considering he sent a wraith to suck out her soul this week. He expected her curiosity was to blame.

"Henry told me you had something important to discuss with me," she said shortly. "From now on, I want you to stay away from my son." She jabbed a cold finger into his shoulder. He was intent on ignoring that passionate request. Never did he wish to harm the boy. On the contrary, he genuinely liked Henry.

"How many times must we remind you, dearie?" That wasn't meant to be a term of endearment. He swatted her finger away from the lapels of his suit. "He is not your son. He belongs to Emma Swan. You should be grateful Charming allows you to maintain contact with him after you kidnapped him from Town Hall." She opened her mouth to unleash a torrent of objections, but he held up his hand. "Now on to the reason for your visit."

He wondered if telling her to _please cry _would have any effect. Regina finally seemed to notice the moisture building under his eyelids and the puffiness of his eyes. She smirked, unnerving him all the more.

"Let me guess: you need a shoulder to cry on?" Rumpelstiltskin sniffled. He rapidly blinked away the stinging moisture brought on by the onions, but it felt like glass had been wedged under his eyelids. Let her laugh. With any luck, she would shed a tear or two.

"I am not crying," he protested. It didn't help his defense any when he dabbed at his eyes with the tissue. Regina snickered. "I'm in the process of cooking. It turns out I could benefit from your professional opinion."

Regina's snickering ceased. The suspicion began to creep in. After all, not even Mr. Gold allowed Regina to infiltrate his territory, especially for something as homely as cooking. Distaste for Regina was something he and his false personality shared.

"You want _my_ opinion…on _your_ cooking?" Regina craned her head to scan the front hallway over his shoulder. Was she searching for hidden cameras? Did she think this was part of some foolish jape? "Where's your darling, dainty sunflower?"

His stomach churned in disgust. Her mockery was enough to choke him. Suddenly Rumpel was glad Belle was not in the house. If he had any say in the matter, Regina wouldn't get anywhere near Belle again.

"_Belle_," he forced her beautiful name through his clenched teeth. Maybe it would jog Regina's memory. "Belle is spending the evening getting to know the town of Storybrooke. Freedom to explore is one of the few requests she has made of me and I am more than happy to oblige, after she has been so inhumanely locked away to wilt like a forgotten rose." That was precisely what Belle was: a rose, not a sunflower. "You happen to be the closest thing I have to a sounding board…and the only person I am confident will give me a brutally honest opinion. According to the jargon of this world, we are frenemies."

Regina grimaced. Her displeasure satisfied him immensely.

"Let's not and say we did." Sweeping her arm against his shoulder, she pushed her way into his house. Her ebony eyes observed every miniscule detail, though not with admiration. Already he could detect her foul stench reeking up his territory.

"If you'll follow me," he murmured.

It was with great reluctance that he led her to the kitchen. Every sharp _click-clack _of her stilettos on the hardwood floors drove through his brain with the blinding force of a dagger. In the kitchen, a pot of homemade sauce sat on the stove with a cluster of ingredients cluttering the counter. He hadn't been lying when he said he was cooking. This was the start of a spaghetti dinner for him and Belle when she returned. The chopped onions remained on the cutting board next to the pot and he tried to herd Regina as close to it as possible.

She didn't dare take a seat. Awkwardly, she lingered by his side with her hip leaning against the counter. It was clear that she was uncomfortable. Good. _That makes two of us, _he thought bitterly. When she was gone, he planned to spray the entire house down with Lysol. For now, he dipped the wooden ladle in the pot and offered a taste of the sauce to her.

"Taste this," he demanded, shoving the ladle toward her nose. He did it in such a way that she stumbled backward, closer to the onions. _Breathe in the onions, _he willed. _Cry, woman, cry!_

"You first," she challenged. Her lips pursed, refusing to accept an ounce of sauce. He figured he should give her credit for assuming he spiked the sauce. She would have done the same, had their roles been reversed. Gingerly, he guided the ladle into his mouth and drained the sauce. Not bad, as a matter of fact. When nothing strange happened, Regina relented enough to sip a spoonful of sauce.

"Splendid. Now may I leave?" Her enthusiasm—or lack, thereof—spoke volumes. She started for the hallway, but he tugged on her sleeve, jerking her back to the stove.

"You don't think it requires more onions?" He grabbed up a handful of onions and held them under her nose. Freshly cut onions should do the trick. Unfortunately, the only thing Regina did was sneer into his palm. Maybe it took a moment or two. Or should he slice another onion? "Granted, you'll soon be weeping a waterfall, just like me." He blinked the new wave of water from his eyes.

"I don't cry over onions. Never have, never will," Regina stated. He gaped at her, then the onions in his palm. Didn't cry…? What kind of woman was she, not even brought to tears by onions? He tossed the onions back onto the cutting board and snatched up the shaker of pepper instead. If onions did not make her cry, then he would "accidentally" fill her nose with pepper and make her sneeze until she did.

"Perhaps a pinch of pepper to add a little spice?"

He sprinkled some black pepper into his hand. Then he pretended to add it to the sauce, faked a clumsy trip over his cane, and threw the pepper at Regina's nose. She whirled away, brushing off the black specks. A violent sneeze made her entire body shudder. Another one soon followed, then another. Rumpel danced around her body with the glass vial in hand, hoping to spot a tear, but her head whipped in so many directions…If only she would stay still for an instant…Gods, he needed a _tear_, not her spittle and snot.

Regina's sneezes ended in moments, leaving her nose twitching and eyes dry. That was disappointing. Whenever the allergenic dwarf slipped into a sneezing fit, he sneezed and cried at the same time. A furious expression darkened Regina's face.

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, Rumpelstiltskin, but you best knock it off. I am not in the mood for your sick mind games. You want my brutally honest opinion? Repaint the color of your house. Children might mistake it for Barbie's Dream House."

With that retort poisoning the space between them, she spun on her heel and strode out the door. She slammed it so hard that it rattled within the doorframe. Not even so much as a farewell in the form of a threat. Some frenemy she was.

Rumpel stared miserably at the glass vial in his hand, empty of tears. Plan A of Operation: Waterhole was a complete failure. Perhaps Henry would have better luck the following day. At least he had dinner with Belle to cheer him up. Once more, he tasted the sauce he had prepared. Delicious.

…

Just yesterday, Regina despised her grand white mansion for its emptiness. She had returned Henry to Charming's care and agreed not to hold him against his will. The last thing she ever wanted was to be like her mother. Now she was on a mission to spruce the place up a bit. To her pleasant surprise, Henry had asked her to enjoy a movie night with him. How could she say no? Of course, she wanted everything to be perfect.

She opened up all the windows that afternoon to air out the house. The sheer white curtains billowed in and out, the wind carrying in the scents of sunshine and freshly mowed grass. With the time drawing near to Henry's arrival, she made sure the house was spotless and she set aside two bags of popcorn for the night. Extra buttery for the occasion. Dinner was still a lonely affair since Henry was eating out at Granny's with Charming first.

No, she shouldn't be complaining. As much as she loathed it, Rumpelstiltskin was right. She should be grateful Henry wanted to spend time with her at all. Hard-pressed as she was to admit it, she did cause him more emotional pain than he ever deserved. Hopefully, tonight would be the start of her redemption.

She was fixing her hair in the mirror when the doorbell rang. She smiled at her reflection and hurried to answer the door. Henry stood on the porch with his backpack and his favorite storybook tucked under his arm. Charming loomed just behind him, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked more than a little anxious.

"Hello, Regina," the prince greeted politely with a quick nod of his head.

"Hello, Charming," she returned coolly. When Henry frowned, she bit down on the inside of her cheek. _Be nice, _she chided herself. _Or else he'll never give you this chance again. _Easier said than done. "Would you like to come in?"

Henry slipped past her and set his bag down by the couch. Charming, however, did not cross the threshold. He gripped the doorframe, as though an invisible wall denied him entrance. And people called _her_ the vampire.

"No, thanks. I've got a long day tomorrow. Protecting the town is an exhausting feat. Henry said he doesn't mind sleeping over," Charming said. He glanced over Regina's shoulder as Henry plopped down on the couch. He looked hesitant to leave Henry there. "Just don't let him have too much sugar."

Regina's smile stiffened and her cheeks ached with the pressure of holding it up. Sometimes the Charmings could be so condescending, even when they didn't mean to be. So perfect, so lovely, so above everyone else. What made them so special? It dug under her skin like a nasty itch she couldn't scratch.

"I've raised Henry for ten years. I think I'm capable of handling him," she snapped. _Whereas you haven't even been his grandfather for a week…and a lovesick idiot before that, _she was tempted to add. Any politeness she might have earned from Charming burst into flames on the spot. His hands fell from the doorframe, their bodies on opposite sides of the threshold. Just like that, they were reminded of where they stood: the glorious prince and the Evil Queen.

"Of course you are," he responded flatly. It seemed there were several other things he wanted to say, but he swallowed them down. Her eyelids narrowed a fraction of an inch. Was that sarcasm she detected? Her sharp nails curled into her palm. "Enjoy your night with Regina, Henry," he called over her shoulder. Perhaps it was simply her worries working against her, but she thought she heard an underlying message there. _Enjoy it while it lasts. _

When Charming turned away, she practically slammed the door. Those two idiots always struck the wrong nerve. At least one of them was gone, most likely wandering around a desolate Enchanted Forest with her stuck-up savior of a daughter. Good riddance. It squeezed her shriveled heart to see Henry watching her warily. She wanted to erase Charming from her mind and enjoy this night with her son.

"What's on the agenda for movie night? You can watch whatever you like," she said, bringing over a bowl of popcorn. Henry couldn't resist taking a handful, his fingers becoming coated in butter. They claimed their seats on the couch in front of her television. She remembered all the times she told Henry to do his homework before watching television. All the times she warned him that too much television would rot his brain.

"Why don't we see what's on?" Henry punched the _on_ switch on the remote and the television blared with life. Currently, Jeopardy was on, but Henry switched the channel. Unbeknownst to Regina, Henry and Rumpelstiltskin had already perused the TV guide for movie night. There was supposed to be an exceptionally sad line-up.

_In the arms of the angel…_

A commercial played out across the screen. A montage of abused cats and dogs, each with pleading eyes, tugged ferociously on Henry's heartstrings. He was pretty sure he only made a series of _awww_s while watching it. It made him want to gather up all the money he had and help those animals. He snuck a glance at Regina. Her face was marble—cold, difficult to break.

"That commercial is really sad," he commented. Not a single tear welled up in Regina's eyes. Instead, unbelievably, she scoffed.

"That is the worst show of manipulation I have ever seen," she said, turning her head away from the television. "You put a few dogs and cats with wide eyes on the screen and suddenly everyone is breaking out the tissues."

Henry changed the channel.

"Have you ever seen _Titanic?_" Regina had no false memories to fall back on. Everything she knew about this world she had learned from experience. Learning to use the oven, car, and indoor bathroom were tricky. Unfortunately, _Titanic _was not one of those experiences.

"No, I can't say I have," she admitted truthfully. Henry told her that he had never seen the movie, either. So they decided to watch it together.

It began with a sepia-tinted image of passengers aboard the _Titanic, _waving goodbye to the people they'd likely never see again. It was set to overly emotional music, in Regina's opinion. While Henry was fascinated with the movie, it took her a little longer to warm up to it. She shielded Henry's eyes when it came to the mature scenes and she remembered she hadn't yet given him The Talk. She would have to do it soon, especially if his other mother never returned.

Overall, the movie was better than she initially expected it to be. It was a long one, but she hardly noticed the passage of time so long as she was spending it with Henry. She never even noticed that she was crying at the end. The story of Jack and Rose had hit her hard, resonating with her enough to make her reminisce about Daniel and the happier times she'd shared with him. So in love…so forbidden….with everyone in her world trying to keep them apart….the mother that wanted to mold her into someone perfect and ladylike…and then having to lose him in the end. She wondered if there was a chance of seeing Daniel again after her life had run its course, a bright, beautiful place where she could fall into his arms forever. In a way, she envied the star-crossed lovers on the screen.

_I'll never let go, Daniel…I'll never let go…_She hugged a pillow to her chest while the tears flowed.

She was so engulfed in her void of emotions that she did not realize Henry caught several of her fallen tears in a glass vial. After the credits rolled, he handed her a tissue and asked her if she was okay.

"I'm fine," she insisted, rubbing the tears away from her eyes with the tissue. Nothing in Storybrooke made her heart ache so much as that movie. Never again, she vowed. "It just…took me by surprise. By the way, Henry, if you ever tell anyone in town that I cried this way, you'll be grounded indefinitely."

Henry nodded solemnly. In Regina's language, "indefinitely" meant forever. He didn't even know if she had the power to ground him anymore since the Charmings took him in, but he did not argue. Regina quickly gained control over her senses and cleared away the empty bowl of popcorn. Then she tucked Henry into his old bed, kissing him once on the forehead to wish him goodnight. After she was gone, Henry dug out the vial again and checked to make sure the tears were really there.

Mission accomplished.

It was a good thing, too. Plan C for Operation: Waterhole featured tickling Regina until she cried while laughing.

….

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't stop admiring the small glass vial that imprisoned Regina's tears. He held the vial up to the sunlight and watched the teardrops glimmer, a pool of diamonds in the palm of his hand. The charm he placed over the vial would keep the tears from drying up before he was ready to put them to good use.

Oh, all the things he could do to Regina with a few drops of tears! All ten fingers and toes tingled with excitement over the power he now wielded over her head.

He tucked the vial into a velvet pocket inside a cherrywood box. Then he carefully stored the box inside the black armoire in the back of his shop. Immediately afterward, his thoughts turned to Henry. His partner in crime. The boy had delivered the tears that morning. Who knew _Titanic _would work so well on the Evil Queen? He had never watched it, but perhaps he would suggest it to Belle. He only hoped Belle would end up crying on his shoulder instead of the other way around.

Now for Henry's reward. Luckily, he had it picked out already. Crossing the room, he retrieved a bundled object from one of the highest shelves. Setting the bundle on his desk, he unfolded the cloth and came away with two wooden swords. Perfect.

It was about time Charming taught his grandson the ways of knighthood.

….


	3. I Will Always Find You

_**A/N: In a review for the last one-shot, Justatruebeliever requested more one-shots about the Charmings. So, I decided to write this one, set during 1x03, which happens to be one of my favorite Snowing episodes. It shows Charming's point of view of waking from his coma and going on his quest to find Snow/MM. I would also like to thank everyone else that reviewed recently: CharlotteAshmore, Grace5231973, and NarnianGriff23. Enjoy! **_

He didn't understand how being stuck in a coma made someone feel so tired. Lying there flat on his back, unable to move, unable to wake up, he found new respect for Sleeping Beauty. Or any maiden in distress for that matter, stuck in a frozen state of enchanted sleep and waiting for their prince to give them true love's kiss. He never heard of a fairytale where the princess woke the prince from slumber.

All he did was lie there in that stiff bed, his head sinking deeper and deeper into the pillow, listening to the activity in his environment without being able to interact with any of it. The endless _beep, beep, beep _drove him mad. Beyond that, he sometimes caught snippets of conversation and he sensed people hanging over his bed, but he had no strength to open his eyes. His eyelids were iron curtains, too heavy to raise even an inch. The muscles in his arms and legs were flabby and useless, his limbs limp worms stretching underneath the sheets. A foul, chemical odor burned his nostrils and, oh, how he longed to cover his nose. Every time he commanded his hands to reach up to his nose, they rebelled, stubbornly still atop the blanket. He couldn't even scrunch the blanket in his fists. It was as if his mind was a separate entity from his body, a spectator in this dull show of idleness. Goosebumps often prickled his skin when the temperature dropped at night—at least he assumed it was nighttime—but he was unable to do something as simple as covering himself up with the blanket.

A woman often visited him during the daytime. It must have been daytime if it was warmer and louder. Always the same woman, even though her face remained a mystery. He knew it was the same woman because her presence was announced by the unnerving _clack-clack-clack_ing of her heels on the floor. The scent of fresh apples mixed with the heavy musk of perfume suffocated him when she got too close to his bed and lingered long after she left. He didn't know why, but her presence never failed to instill in him a sense of dread.

"Good morning, Charming," she would always hiss into his ear. It had the same effect of an annoying, buzzing fly—he ached to swat it away, but his fingers didn't even flinch. Her voice was bittersweet, seductive, dripping with smugness. As if it amused her that he was trapped in a coma. It poured like poison into his ear. Each word cut into his brain like cold, sharp pieces of glass and he was helpless to defend himself from it.

He didn't know why she insisted on calling him Charming. It wasn't given as a compliment, but as a name. What an odd name, yet it resonated deep inside his being, echoing…_Charming, Charming, Charming…_

_Charming suits you. _Where did that come from? It was the lightest of whispers in the back of his mind, fighting to be heard. It disappeared before he could fully process its meaning.

The days blended together, one after another. It was impossible to tell how long he had laid in that bed or when he would finally wake up. The passing of time was marked only by the cold woman's visitations and those rare instances when the doctor came in to check his vitals. Most likely, he was simply making sure his patient was still alive. It wasn't exciting to listen to the doctor practice his terrible pick-up lines.

Then something miraculous happened.

Someone else came to visit him, though her scent was not unfamiliar. She hadn't visited as much as the cold woman, but it was difficult for him to forget that scent. Sunshine and some kind of floral, subtle enough not to be displeasing. It was nice. If only he could breathe it in and fill his lungs with it.

Her visits were always pleasant and she left much too soon. When she talked to him, it was not mocking or even wholly sympathetic. It was sweet and gentle. Caring. As if she were talking to someone that could smile and nod back. She would tell him if it was particularly sunny or rainy that day and he would imagine the spindles of sunlight or the tears drumming across the glass of a window. Not the window in his room because he didn't know where it was or what it looked like. Just_ a_ window. Perhaps a room with an open balcony. She supplied the words; his mind formed the images. It kept his brain working, even if no one on the outside noticed his awareness.

She talked about the kids she taught and he wanted to smile. He always adored kids, always wanted one of his own. Instead he somehow landed in a bed, stripped of the power to even open his eyes. He wondered what color her eyes were and if they smiled as much as her voice implied. The first image that floated to the surface was a pair of green eyes. The rich, healthy green of forest leaves in the sunlight. He liked to think they belonged to her, at least until it was proven otherwise.

One day, she was kind enough to bring flowers to his room. Oh, how he wanted to lift his head and thank her. Possibly without scaring her to death. How he wanted to inhale the fragrance of those flowers. What kind of flowers were they? How many petals, how many leaves? What color? He longed to ask.

Today, she brought along a book. He could hear the pages falling across one another and the crack of the spine as she propped it open. Even more wonderful, she sat on the edge of his bed. He felt the sheets move and his skin tingled with her proximity. She was close enough to touch, he could sense it, but his arm refused to move. If he could just make contact, just reach out and touch her hand, let her know he was listening to her story…but his hand remained weak and lifeless.

She told him the tale of Snow White, enriched by her soothing voice. Something stirred in the back of his mind. Why did this particular story sound familiar? Yes, it was familiar. It wasn't a trick of his mind, brought about by hoping too much for a memory. His mind painted the forest landscape and the young fugitive with a golden heart. _Snow….Snow…Snow…_

He didn't know the woman's name. If she ever told it to him, he could not remember. For the moment, _Snow _seemed as good a name as any. No one had ever read to him before and he appreciated the gesture.

The feeling of familiarity grew with every word she spoke. It grew until he felt like he would burst. He had to tell her. He had to reach out to her. He had to at least try. _Move, _he commanded his limp arms. _Move, move, move! Reach out to her, now, before it's too late. Let her know…I hear you. Don't stop. _

For a brief instant, the spell broke. His hand jerked and it clamped down over her small, soft one. She stopped reading, gasping aloud. Inside he felt a sense of pride over that single, simple accomplishment. Yes, he had done it! At last, someone would realize he was here! She would know and she would help him recover from this miserable, idle existence.

She abruptly got up from the bed. The book tumbled to the floor, the sudden crash bouncing off the walls. Her hand slipped out from underneath his, letting it fall to the sheets once more. No matter how he tried, it would not move again. Then her footsteps headed in the opposite direction, fading away down the hall. Had he startled her? Scared her off? _No! Come back! Please…_

She did come back after a few heartbeats, but a heavy set of footsteps accompanied her. Dr. Whale, as she anxiously referred to him. Not the guy who practiced pick-up lines! For some reason, he didn't think he could stomach hearing the doctor practice them on Snow. Jealousy, perhaps? No, that was ridiculous. How could he be jealous and pining for a woman whose face he had never seen?

Ugh, he was in denial.

He struggled to repeat the quick movement as he listened to the woman explain the phenomenon to the doctor. But the doctor did not believe her, insisting instead that the movement she _thought_ had happened was unlikely. A spasm, a trick of her tired mind. _No! I am here! I did move my hand! Give me time and I'll do it again! It was real. I touched her. _

He was determined to prove the doctor wrong. He would move again if he had to devote every spare ounce of energy to it.

When the woman was gone, something that saddened him more his closed lips would allow him to say, the doctor called someone. He could hear the buzzing of the phone from where he lay and then the muffled sound of a woman's voice on the other end. As he listened in to the conversation, his stomach twisted. The doctor had lied to Snow; there had been fluctuation in his vitals, whatever that meant. Proof that he was alert? Active? Who did the doctor call? The cold woman? What if she submerged him deeper in this confusing fog? What if he fell so deep into the coma that he couldn't find his way back to the surface? There was something not right about that woman.

He had to get out of here. He had to find Snow. He was concentrating so hard on the task of moving that he failed to catch the rest of the doctor's conversation or the fact that the doctor left him alone.

Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to reenact the movement of his hand. He put all his willpower into making his muscles contort and flex, with the memory of Snow's sweet storytelling encouraging him along. After what felt like hours of nonstop concentration, he was able to wiggle the pinkie of his left hand. Then his other fingers followed suit, bending and twitching. His toes started to curl ever so slightly under the sheet. The hazy fog clouding his mind parted, the coma growing weaker, shedding layer by layer until the iron curtains fluttered.

_Snow…Snow…Snow…_

At last, his eyelids opened. Immediately, they wanted to close again and he found it impossible to deny the urge. The world was not filled with blinding white light as he might have expected, but his eyelids still felt heavy. It would take time and energy to keep them open. He batted them until he could observe his surroundings for more than a split second.

The ceiling was a white chessboard above his head. He tried to access his memories while he blinked, tried to recall what happened to land him in that precarious situation, but it was a blur. Not even a blur, really. There was no tingling sensation of memories trying to break through. It was simply…quiet in his mind. No images flickered, no faces floated in or out to remind him of those he loved, no forgotten words, happy or angry, swirled in the darkness. Nothing. It was as if…he had no memories to access at all. But that didn't make any sense. Everyone had memories of some sort.

Amnesia. That was what it was—a serious case of amnesia. Hopefully, it would subside.

Even lifting his head required nearly all his energy. It was supremely heavy, as though weighted down with rocks. He was in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed. There was no one there to notice his emergence from slumber. The incessant beeping came from a black screen beside his bed. Neon green lines zig-zagged across the screen, rising up and down in rapid strokes. Clear tubes spiraled over the sheets and bit into the flesh of his arms.

Gritting his teeth, he carefully extracted the tubes and tossed away the strange padded clip that had been pinching his finger. The neon green lines on the black screen stopped spiking, suddenly falling into an endless green line. The steady _beep, beep, beep _descended into one shrill, continuous _beeeeeep. _He didn't know what it meant, but he didn't think it was a good idea to stick around to find out.

Gradually, he flipped the sheet off his bare legs. The only material covering his body was a thin, sky-blue tunic, decorated with a pattern of tiny sapphire blue diamonds. A bracelet hung loosely on his wrist. When he spun it around, he read the name _John Doe. _It didn't sound right at all. Something shifted in the shadows of his mind and he attempted to wrestle it into the light before it could escape. Something….something…

What was it the cold woman called him? Charming. That was it! Charming. It was a funny name, but somehow it felt more comfortable than John Doe. He supposed he would bear it for now. _Alright, Prince Charming. Time to find Snow White, _he thought with increasing confidence.

This was going to be the most tedious part, he already knew. Everything he had accomplished before was cakewalk compared to his next objective. He had to get out of bed. Preferably without falling flat on his face. He had to get on his feet for the first time in…how long? Weeks? Months? No answer came to mind. Not even a stab at an answer.

Maybe Snow would assist him in regaining his lost memories. Instinctively, he knew she would have the answers. _Snow, Snow, Snow…._He repeated the mantra as he squirmed across the sheets. It inspired in him the strength to continue fighting, to escape his imprisonment.

_Snow, Snow, Snow…_

His hand rose in the air and landed on the cold, silver railing that surrounded both sides of the bed. He gripped the railing with all his might, his knuckles bone-white and protruding up from his skin. He hoisted his body off the mattress.

_Snow, Snow, Snow…_

One leg mounted the railing. It extended to full length and he angled his body to begin climbing over. The bare sole of his foot hit the sleek tiled floor, his body straddling the railing like a horse. It wasn't comfortable by any means, but he had to pause to restore his energy. Then it was time for the other foot to drop.

_Snow, Snow, Snow…_

The other leg lifted from the mattress and hovered over the silver railing. He lost his balance and stumbled backward. His hands mistakenly released the railing and his feet slid across the floor. He crashed into the bedside table, scrambling for the sides for support. His hands barely swiped the edges before he collapsed into a heap on the floor, his knees jarred by the impact. A vase of flowers almost toppled over, but he managed to catch it and righted it.

Flowers. Forget-me-nots, to be exact. Snow had brought him forget-me-nots. For a long time, he rested his chin on the edge of the table and admired the velvet purplish-blue petals. He didn't trust himself to hold the vase for very long without dropping it, so he bent his head close to the petals to inhale the sweet scent of the flowers. Beautiful. Just like her, he imagined.

Slowly, he regained his footing. Once or twice, his legs wobbled uneasily, like a person attempting to skate over ice for the first time. Step by step, he lumbered toward the glass door, seeking a way into the world beyond those white-washed walls.

He needed to find his Snow White. But where would she be? Black shadows pressed against each window, warning him that it was nighttime. _Troll Bridge, _he suddenly recalled. It was the last place Snow mentioned in her story, before he grabbed her hand. For some unexplainable reason, he sensed that was where he needed to be to find Snow. Whereas they were reluctant to obey his commands before, his legs all too eagerly carried him toward an unmarked gray door. He would let his legs lead the way.

_Snow, Snow, Snow…_

_I will find you…_

…..

The door led outside, straight into the forest. It was a maze of trees at this time of night, with the sliver of moon barely visible through the canopy of leaves. He tilted his head back and breathed in the pine and scent of earth on the wind. It was inviting and refreshing after that sour smell inside.

He had no idea how to tackle the forest or where a bridge might be, or if there was even a bridge at all, so he simply dove in headfirst. He took one step forward, then another, never turning back. He had to trust his instincts. Currently, his instincts were telling him that this path would lead him to Snow White. It had to, because he had no other alternative to fall back on. It had been his mission to get out of that horrible bed and escape, but he hadn't quite thought past that part.

Wearily, he started through the forest, slapping the leaves out of his face and dragging his bare feet through the moist, cold soil. He wandered endlessly through the trees, trying to maintain a straight line through the darkness. It was pulsing and thick, rendering him blind. Sometimes he felt like he was running in circles. His hands scrabbled over the rough bark of the tree trunks for purchase. More than once, his ankle snagged on an uplifted root, nearly losing his footing again. Just as it was in the coma, he had no idea how much time passed from the moment he stepped away from that door. There was only the impenetrable darkness and the rustle of the leaves as the wind blew through them.

He was beginning to wonder if he would ever find his way out of the forest, much less find Snow White, when a new sound infiltrated his ears. He stopped and strained to listen. It sounded like…running water. Not a roaring sound, but trickling. A river? _Rivers sometimes run under bridges, _he thought and his feet picked up their pace. She would be there; she had to be. He was going so fast now, ricocheting off the trunks of the trees, so fast that he barely registered the snap of his bracelet as it caught on a branch, breaking off from his wrist. All he felt was the scratch of the branch and the warmth of blood oozing over his wrist.

There was no time to hiss or cry out. The bridge was where he needed to be. His fingers gently probed the stinging cut on his wrist. It didn't feel too bad. There was no gushing blood, at least. _I've endured worse, _he thought without warning, dismissing the wound entirely. Had he? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?

The cover of trees finally broke apart and he stepped out into the open. Lo and behold, a shallow river coursed along, a mere foot or so away. The jagged rocks embedded in the soil hurt his feet when he stepped over them, the discomfort making him dance here and there. As he limped closer to the edge of the water, his feet mounting one of the larger boulders that offered him a wider view of the landscape, he noticed a narrow bridge to his right. A sign swung in the breeze, its letters visible in the moonlight if he squinted. It was meant to say _Toll Bridge, _but someone thought it funny to spray-paint a crimson _R _between the _T _and the _O_, thereby declaring it the Troll Bridge instead.

Troll Bridge…

Why did that seem so meaningful to him? When he tested out the bridge's original name on his tongue, it meant nothing to him. It was a foreign concept, unable to resurrect a single memory. But when he whispered the name Troll Bridge, it felt like some piece of information was nagging in one of the corners of his mind, struggling its way through the shadows. Something he had forgotten for a very long time…

His concentration shattered as his foot slipped off the boulder. It splashed into the water, hitting another sharp stone beneath. The memory drowned in the darkness once more and he put all his effort into not falling. His arms flapped, his legs bent, but it was far too late. Pitching forward, the river rushed up to meet him. He felt it when his chin collided with a stone, his teeth rattling inside his head. Blood pooled from a fresh cut, only to be frozen when the icy water of the river lapped it up. The water soaked through his thin clothing, but he couldn't move a muscle. As water entered his mouth, cold enough to slice into his tongue, his eyelids fluttered. The curtains were about to fall. _No, _he tried to scream, but the word only echoed in his mind. _I can't go back under. I have to find her. _

Then, panicking: _What if I don't wake up again? _

The unforgiving chill of the water numbed every nerve in his body, until he wasn't sure he was even inside his body at all. It was worse than being trapped in the coma without being able to interact. His eyelids dropped down, ignoring his inner pleas, plunging him into that old, familiar black void.

His last thought was of Snow White. He hoped she would find him.

…..

_I found you…_

_ Come back to me…_

There was something warm on his lips. It wasn't the blood. Whatever this warm thing was, it was moving. Brushing his mouth gently, timidly. It was soft as the petals of those forget-me-nots. This was the first sensation he felt beyond the numbness and the infinite cold. He was sad when the feeling ended, leaving his mouth empty.

Miraculously, he opened his eyes. He wasn't dead. He wasn't in a coma. Or had time passed without him? It was still nighttime, the skies rich with stars. Something even more beautiful emerged from the blanket of darkness, driving it away as powerfully as the sunlight. A woman's face. She was brushing his wet hair back from his forehead and smiling down at him. Her delicate body trembled with relief. In a matter of seconds, he memorized every detail of her face, branding it into his brain. This time, he vowed not to lose the memory.

Short, shiny black hair framed a heart-shaped face. He wondered if that hair was as silky as it looked and his fingers itched to run along each strand. Her skin was pale as snow, with only two patches of pink painting her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted and red, red as blood. Her eyes fascinated him the most. Beautiful, intelligent emerald eyes, incapable of holding a speck of malice.

Snow White.

He knew it was the same woman before she even opened her mouth to speak. The name rounded his lips, but his voice had not yet returned to working order.

"She woke him up," a young boy exclaimed, lingering a few feet behind Snow. He looked no older than ten, his brown eyes wide and alight with wonder.

"Yeah, kid, she did," a woman in dark blue leather responded. She was holding the boy tightly in her arms. He must have been her son. A cloud of golden curls surrounded her hardened face as she observed the scene. She could have been Snow's sister or daughter, if they didn't already look to be the same age.

He looked up at Snow and a smile—a genuine smile—spread over his face. For the first time since waking from the coma, he wasn't confused or desperately trying to find his way. Hope had been restored inside him and he clung to it fiercely. This felt right.

"You found me."

…


	4. One Drink Too Many

_**A/N: This one takes place in season 2, referencing episodes 2x12 and 2x15. **_

The back of Charming's head was pounding. That was all thanks to Hook's ambush. He tried to concentrate on what his wife was so frantically saying, but what he most desired to do was throw Hook in a jail cell to rot. There was no way he was getting off the hook after all he'd done, no pun intended.

Apparently, though, Hook was the least of their problems.

"It's Regina," Snow exclaimed. How many times had they heard that one? Would they ever be able to enjoy a single day without havoc being wreaked? It had become such a daily occurrence that Charming didn't think he would know what to do with a peaceful day if he got it. "She's working with Cora to find Rumpelstiltskin's dagger."

Charming's insides twisted. It was a good thing he was sitting down.

"The dagger controls him," he said gravely. "If Cora gets it, she can force Rumpelstiltskin and all his power to do her bidding." In the hands of Regina and Cora, that dagger was the equivalent of a nuclear weapon.

"Or...become the Dark One herself," she added, weaving her fingers together nervously. Snow knew Regina did not fully trust her mother. If they could plant doubt in her mind about Cora's intentions, then maybe the mother-daughter duo would not be so quick to locate the dagger. A house divided could never stand.

The pair hurried to the door of the station. Already, Regina and Cora may be several steps ahead of them in finding the dagger.

"Wait a minute." Snow abruptly pulled him up short by the elbow. He tossed her a confused look, his body halfway out the door. "Charming, how did you know that the dagger controls Rumpelstiltskin?"

The deep grooves in his forehead, brought on by his anxiety, smoothed out. His ocean-blue eyes glimmered beneath the milky light of the overhanging fixtures.

"I never told you?" Snow shook her head. He rejoined her side, leaning against the frame of the door. It was a strange story to tell. "Well..."

...

_Earlier that week..._

"_Prince Charming knelt down beside that glass casket. The dwarfs opened the lid and there she was, so fair and so cold...Prince Charming bent his head to give her one last kiss. A kiss of true love. As their lips touched, a wave of light pulsed throughout the realm. Snow White awoke from her deep slumber...and they lived happily ever after." _

Charming closed the leather-bound storybook in his lap. Underneath his covers, Henry groaned.

"That's not how the story ends," he objected.

The fact that they were sitting in an apartment in a small town in Maine was proof that there was plenty more to be told. No matter how many times Charming and Snow recounted the tales of their world, Henry never tired of them. For other children, it would have been a delicious fantasy to help lull them to sleep. For Henry, it was the future. The possibility of a happy ending.

"Sorry, Henry. That's where the story ends tonight," Charming said, stowing the book on Henry's bedside table. He tucked Henry's blankets up to his chin. Nights in Maine certainly were chilly. "You'll need your rest if you insist on going to New York with Emma."

Charming didn't like the idea of his daughter and his grandson venturing so far from home, especially since the curse broke not too long ago. Unfortunately, Emma owed Rumpelstiltskin a favor and no one ever broke deals with him. As for Henry, they had discussed it as a family. With Regina and Cora terrorizing the town, it would be much safer for Henry to be beyond their reach. Luckily for Henry, the trip to New York offered him an adventure outside Storybrooke.

Charming leaned over and kissed Henry's forehead.

"I'll tell you the rest of the story when you get back. Goodnight, Henry," he whispered and playfully ruffled the boy's hair. He turned out the light and treaded carefully on his feet, slipping quietly downstairs.

It was so silent that he could have heard a pin drop. In preparation for the trip to New York, Emma had gone to bed early as well and Snow had retired in their room with a book. When he checked in on her, he found her snoozing with the book still open on her chest. He gently removed the book from her fingers.

His nerves were much too jumbled to sleep. Maybe a cup of tea would soothe them. Charming headed into the kitchen, focused on reaching the cabinet that contained the teacups. A knock at the door interrupted him halfway there, the sound thundering through the apartment. Charming held his breath to see if the disturbance woke anyone up. No one stirred.

Who would be coming to them at this time of night?

Charming puzzled it out until he answered the door, pulling it open wide to find Rumpelstiltskin on the other side. Immediately, Charming sensed that something was off about the dealmaker. For one thing, it seemed a challenge for Rumpelstiltskin to hold his gaze and he didn't appear too steady on his feet. If it weren't for the cane, which Rumpel clutched in both hands, he might have toppled over by now.

This ought to be good.

"Are you here to issue more death threats? Or do you plan to abscond into the night with my daughter and my grandson instead of waiting for the morning?"

He knew Rumpelstiltskin was impatient to locate his son, having waited centuries for it, but he didn't imagine he would change his plans this unexpectedly. Rumpel's eyelids drooped. He stared at Charming as if he had babbled utter nonsense.

"Why would I want to kill you? We have such a long history together," Rumpel said. It wasn't hard to detect the slur in his words. He raised a finger, pointing it at Charming's chest, but the finger wavered back and forth, up and down. Then it poked Charming in the stomach. "You know, I've always liked you, Charming. You were the kind of man I always wished I could be. Much better than that arrogant twin of yours. Hah! The idiot thought he wore leather pants best! Did he realize who started that trend? Me!"

Rumpelstiltskin hooked his thumb toward his chest. Memories of the strange little imp decked in leather resurfaced in Charming's mind-memories he didn't particularly want to linger over. Rumpel swayed and Charming caught him by the shoulders. The shortened distance between them allowed him to get a good whiff of the alcohol on Rumpel's breath, not even remotely concealed by the rich cologne.

Just as he feared.

"Are you drunk?" Charming's nose hovered near Rumpel's mouth and he sniffed again. He cringed. Oh, yes, definitely alcohol. Rumpel shoved Charming away, denying his help.

"I'm not even tipsy," he argued. He sluggishly took a step forward, swayed to the side again, and collided into the door. So much for not being tipsy. Yet the clumsiness did not faze Rumpel. "You know, I've had my heart broken three times, by three different women. No, four times-there was the day I lost my son. No, five-the day my Papa abandoned me. Oh, I've had it broken so many times." Rumpel's head sank onto the green door, his shoulders shuddering violently.

Charming couldn't help but pity the infamous dealmaker. He had felt the pain of a broken heart before. Once was agonizing enough, but five times? Rumpel had lived centuries; that left a lot of opportunity for a broken heart.

"I'm sorry to hear it," he said honestly, clapping Rumpel on the shoulder. "Now hand over your keys. I refuse to let you drive in this condition." That was assuming Rumpelstiltkin drove to reach him in the first place. He hoped no one was hurt.

Of course, Rumpel chose to ignore everything Charming said.

"Have I ever told you that there is an enchanted dagger with my name on it? It is the source of all my power as the Dark One. The only object that can control me. Genies have their bottles; I have my knife." Charming's eyebrows shot up.

"Why are you telling me this?" Surely this couldn't be a fabricated story spawned by drunken babble? Rumpel placed his hand over his heart, as if it were physically hurting at that precise moment. Charming could not blame him for his heartache. After all, he did just lose Belle.

"It's also the only magical object that can kill me," Rumpel continued. He reached out and grasped Charming's arm. At first Charming feared he was swaying again and needed the support, but then he noticed the plea in Rumpel's glassy eyes. "Do me a favor: plunge it into my ragged heart and relieve me of this agony. You'll become the Dark One in my place, live a century or two, become all...reptilian...but you'll get used to it in the mirror."

Charming lifted Rumpel's hand away from his arm. He didn't pull away too fast in case Rumpel fell forward.

"Absolutely not," Charming bellowed. He remembered suddenly that everyone else was sleeping and checked over his shoulder for sleepwalkers. All clear. "You know it's not in my nature to take someone's life, nor will I control you like a puppet. You're drunk. You don't realize what you're saying. Tomorrow you're going to New York with Emma and you're going to find your son."

Charming attempted to lead Rumpel out the door, closing it softly behind him. His hands sifted through the pockets of Rumpel's suit, searching for the keys. Stubbornly, Rumpel dug in his heels. For a guy with a bad leg, he was incredibly strong when he wanted to be.

"How are you so certain?" Doubt laced Rumpel's intoxicated speech. "I heard New York is an enormous city. What if I find my son and he chooses not to forgive me?"

"I have hope," Charming answered. Perhaps Rumpel could benefit from trying it sometime instead of assuming the worst. "Stop running from your fears, Rumpel. You've been waiting for this chance for centuries. Don't blow it now."

Rumpel's heels let up and he moved along easier after that. Charming finally found the keys in one of the inner pockets of Rumpel's suit. One by one, they tackled each step on the staircase.

"You're right," Rumpel murmured, patting Charming on the back. Charming was forced to hold onto the rail to keep from flying off the step. He grappled with Rumpel's cane, inevitably tugging Rumpel's body closer to his to prevent the dealmaker from following him down. "You're much smarter than David Nolan. What was I thinking?"

"It must be the whiskey doing the talking," Charming said. He created enough distance between them so he could lead Rumpel down the stairs without being subjected to the odor of alcohol. Why didn't anyone think to install an elevator in their apartment building? He bounced the keys in his palm. "I'm going to drive you home."

"I think I parked in your yard," Rumpel loudly whispered in Charming's ear. Charming paused on the last step, perplexed.

"We don't have a yard."

...

"Really? He was drunk?" Snow had never seen Rumpelstiltskin drunk before. By this time, she thought it was impossible. He always came off as so controlled, so refined...Charming held up his hand as though swearing an oath.

"As a skunk," he stated. His lips curled upward, indicating he was trying to hold in his laughter. "Turns out he parked the car in Abigail's yard and walked the rest of the way to our place. You should have seen me trying to get him into bed. He must have drunk his weight in whiskey."

Snow tilted her head quizzically.

"Why do you say that?" Charming grinned.

"He never remembered telling me about the dagger the next morning." The only thing Rumpel had griped about when he picked up Emma and Henry was that he had a splitting headache. No sign that he had shared a deep secret with Charming or else he might have threatened Charming to keep quiet about it. "Snow, how did you know Cora could use his dagger to become the new Dark One?"

Snow's pink lips rounded into a small O.

"That morning I found a handwritten ad in our mail personally signed by Rumpelstiltskin for _Who Wants to Be a Dark One?_"

...

_**Honestly, this is the only explanation I could come up with to explain how Charming and Snow know about the dagger or what it does. It just came out of the blue in season 2 and it confused me greatly. It's clear in the start of season 2 that he even has issues trusting Belle, never mind Charming whose cursed counterpart was prone to making mistakes. So, I hope this amused everyone as much as it amused me to write it. **_

_**Many thanks to everyone that has reveiwed and read this collection of one-shots lately. Thank you for all the suggestions you've given me for future one-shots. I'll be sure to work them in later on. (-; **_


	5. Second Thoughts

_**A/N: This one is a bit short, but I hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless. I want to thank yayaytimes for the request to do this one-shot. It is based on the second season opening "Broken" when Belle makes the decision to return to Rumpel's shop. I also want to thank all those that reviewed recently because your support is much appreciated: Tuxer, Grace5231973, CharlotteAshmore, orthankg1, Justatruebeliver, and katiek121. **_

_Belle, I'm sorry. I am. _

Belle stormed out of the pawnshop and slammed the door behind her. The bell clanged violently, the sound echoing in her ears as she strode down the street. The wind whipped through her hair, the chill seeping into her bones in a matter of seconds. She tucked her hands inside her sleeves and wrapped her arms around her torso for warmth. The street ahead was deserted and dark, the streetlights fizzling and blowing out, plunging her into the shadows.

It looked like a storm was coming, but it wasn't natural by any means.

She hadn't meant to stand so close behind the curtain. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Curiosity was a troublesome thing; it was impossible for her to control. In the end, she heard everything. Rumpelstiltskin had declared this a gift. He claimed it would take care of Regina.

_No, I kept my word. I will not kill her. _

He had lied to her. He had promised her he would not kill Regina, but his habit of twisting words provided him a loophole. Sometimes, as Belle had come to learn, there were worse fates than death.

Deep down, she understood that he was angry at Regina for keeping her survival a secret. He felt it was only right to give her what she deserved for the deception. Was it to ensure that they could be together without Regina tearing them apart again? Or was it simply a nasty habit of his to hurt those who had hurt him?

Either way, a stone dropped into the pit of Belle's stomach, her feet dragging along on the sidewalk.

She wanted so much to be with him, to have her chance of a happy ending after enduring so many years of imprisonment by the Queen. It was a shock to regain her memories and to see Rumpel's human face. It was an illusion. She had hoped that he had changed from the silver-tongued dealmaker.

_In the hour you've known me? _

Tendrils of longing and sadness curled around her heart. How could she have been foolish enough to assume he had changed for the better when they spent nearly thirty years apart? Clearly, he regretted making her leave his castle, and the grief of her loss must have devastated him. She recalled the way he stared at her when she first found him in his shop, as if he could not believe she was anything but a figment of his imagination. For thirty years, he believed her to be dead. There would have been no source of light in his life to encourage that good part of him to thrive-he didn't even have his son back yet. All alone in that castle, that darkness would have devoured him whole.

A broken heart is the most painful of afflictions.

Belle stopped. She had no idea how much time had passed since she left his shop, but her toes were numb inside her shoes and her cheeks were raw from the whiplash of the wind. If any tears fell from her eyelids, they might have frozen on her skin. The wind was picking up, her clothes flapping against her body. It howled in her ears and she began to question if it was safe to be outside.

Should she return to Rumpel's pawnshop? What would she say to him if she did? She had nowhere else to go.

Turning around, she found herself in front of a flower shop. The sign above the door read _Game of Thorns. _That was an odd name for a flower shop, but then this whole world was a mystery. In the window, she saw her reflection. Her hair was wild and alive with the wind, the strands writhing through the air like Medusa's snakes. The lights behind her blinked on and off. There was a mournful look reflected in her eyes.

Looking past her reflection, she noticed a dozen bouquets of fresh roses. Red, yellow, white, all grouped together in a rainbow of petals. The red ones instantly reminded her of the day Rumpelstiltskin handed her a rose in his castle. That was when she had been getting to know him, when she recognized that there was a good man inside that impish shell clawing his way to the surface.

Did that good man still exist in Rumpel? She hoped so.

_Why did you come back?_

_ I wasn't going to, but then something changed my mind. _

Her fingers grazed the window, the glass separating her from the flowers. The sight of those roses made her smile and reminisce about the simpler times she shared with Rumpel. She wanted to fight for their happiness. If she walked away now, she would only be giving up on him. Perhaps the problem was that he continued to see himself as a monster. He needed someone to remind him that the good part of him was there. Otherwise, he was doomed to drown in an ocean of darkness.

_All you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup. _

Belle turned and retraced her steps to the pawnshop.


	6. What's In a Name

**_A/N: This one is pretty short and simple, but I've had this scene in my head since Season 2. I always wondered what it was like when Rumpel wrote Emma's name repeatedly on that scroll...Enjoy!_**

"Emma," Snow said softly. Her hand caressed her round belly, the child inside nearly ready to make her entrance into the world. "Her name is Emma." Charming gently clutched his wife's arm and led her safely out of the tunnel. Rumpelstiltskin watched them go with newfound excitement, his lips spread wide and his teeth gleaming in the dim light of the torches.

"Emma," he purred. The name of his savior. "Emma, Emma, Emma..." He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. His fingers released the bars and tented beneath his chin as he contemplated the importance of that one name. So much relied on that name and the child that owned it. The child, still slumbering in her mother's womb, did not even realize the power she would have running through her veins.

Emma, Emma, Emma...

He needed to write it down. Preserve it. Brand it into his brain so that he would never forget it. That name was the key to everything. He hurried to the wall at the back of his cell. Rocks jutted from its surface and there were plenty of small crevices where things could be hidden. Wedging his fingers between two rocks, he removed a thin, tightly-bound scroll from one crevice. From another one came a jar of black ink; from another, a quill. The ink was squid ink and contained very powerful magic within every drop. It was so powerful, in fact, that if he "accidentally" spilled it onto the bars of his cell, they would deteriorate and he would be granted instant freedom. The urge to use magic freely again, or even to bathe properly, was tempting. And, oh, the looks on Snow and Charming's faces if he ever escaped! A giggle threatened to pop out of his mouth just by thinking of it. He looked from the jar of ink in his hand to the monstrous jaws that kept him trapped.

He dismissed it.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. There was nothing for him beyond those bars, not anymore. He would only be hopping out of one cell and locking himself snugly in a slightly bigger one. Belle had died so long ago, Bae was gone, left fatherless in another world...he did enjoy the comfort of his castle compared to that cramped, cold cell, but it was so empty and lonely. Belle had not been wrong about that. His castle was a reminder that he had everything a man could ask for, but the things that truly mattered to him were not there.

Everything was in place on the chessboard. This would all be worth it in the end.

He slumped down to the damp dirt and crossed his legs. It wasn't very comfortable with the leather pants, but he was able to unwind the scroll and balance the blank paper on his knee. Opening the jar of ink, he dipped the tip of the quill inside and began to write in elegant curves and loops.

Emma, Emma, Emma...

He hadn't been this gleeful in a long time. The quill soared across the page, each black line precise and hypnotizing. Closing his eyes, he could almost picture her in his mind. Before the Charmings' visit, the vision hadn't been too clear, always just beyond his reach. Now, with her name echoing in his mind, the vision was starting to lose its haziness. Spirals of golden hair, smooth ivory skin though not as pale as her mother's, an intelligent pair of green eyes. Those eyes belonged to Snow White, able to cut straight through to a person's heart. She would possess the honor and righteousness that her parents so often exhibited, combined with her mother's startling beauty and her father's unbreakable courage.

Emma, Emma, Emma...

He giggled. When his legs grew tired and numb from staying in one position too long, he switched to lying on his belly, his legs kicking through the air as he continued to scrawl the name over and over. One thousand times he wrote her name, chanting it under his breath all the while. He wrote her name until their was no room left on the scroll and until the quill snapped in his fist from the pressure he placed on it. After the writing was done, he bound the scroll as it was before and tucked it back into its crevice for safekeeping. He used the broken quill to pick his teeth.

Emma, Emma, Emma...

He just wanted to make sure it'd stick.

…...

"He's giggling again," one of the guards at the entrance whispered to his partner and shuddered violently. The nightly shift had just changed less than an hour ago and the previous two guards ran out of there like their back ends were on fire. None of them were comfortable with the idea of guarding the Dark One, especially in a place so dank and dark. With the night settling in, the shadows thrived along the walls and the rats skittered over their feet. They had to replace one guard that literally dropped dead from fright while carrying food to the Dark One's cell. The mad giggling increased in pitch and it sent a severe chill down the guard's spine. ""Your turn. Go see what he's up to."

His partner paled.

"It's not my turn! I escorted Snow White and Prince Charming to his cell. It's _your_ turn! Get going!" He prodded the guard's armored chest, shoving him toward the dim path that led to the Dark One's cell. The guard fiercely dug in his heels.

"I'll give you all the coins in my pocket if you go this time," he negotiated. He patted his pockets, searching for spare coins. His partner shook his head.

"I don't care if you give me your gold, your land, and your wife! It's your turn!"

"I'm not going!"

"Neither am I!" There was another sharp giggle deep within the darkness. In the midst of it, distorted and shrill, the guards could almost make out a name.

"Em-ma! EM-ma! Em-MA! _EMMA!"_

…...


End file.
